‘‘I seek clarity only, my love.’’
‘‘Right. And since when did I become your love?’’
‘‘Since the moment I first saw you.’’
‘‘If you think I believe that, maybe you have a bridge you can sell me.’’
He frowned for a moment, then his fine brow smoothed out. ‘‘Ah. One of your clever Americanisms.’’ He brought the hand he was forever capturing to his mouth. Her skin tingled deliciously at the touch of his lips. ‘‘You could marry me now….’’
‘‘I could climb Mount Everest. Go skydiving. Jump off the Empire State Building.’’
‘‘Meaning?’’
She pulled her hand free for about the hundredth time. ‘‘Just because I can do something doesn’t mean I will.’’
They walked to a restaurant not far from the house, shared a leisurely meal, then strolled back together.
They’d taken perhaps ten steps along the sidewalk when Finn’s hand closed over hers. Liv didn’t remark on it or try to pull away.
By then, it was a little after nine and night had fallen. The streetlamps made warm pools of light on the sidewalks and the sycamores and maples rustled softly in a gentle breeze. The Sacramento summer, so far, had been a mild one. The nights, as yet, were balmy. Perfect for an evening stroll.
They went up the wide stone steps to the inviting wooden porch where a swing, suspended from the eaves, swayed slightly, as if an invisible occupant had just jumped up to greet them.
They sat down and swung idly back and forth.
‘‘A porch swing is so American,’’ Finn said. ‘‘Always, in your American movies, the young lovers sit out in them, on nights like this.’’ He raised his left arm and laid it along the back of the swing, behind her. ‘‘Casually, the young quarterback puts his arm in position.’’
She sent him a look. ‘‘Quarterback?’’
‘‘Always, in your American movies, the young lover is a quarterback. He scores the winning touchdown for the home team. And then later, he sits out on the front porch in the swing with his girl—a front porch very much like this one, a swing no different than the one we’re sitting in now. And he prepares to score in another deeper, more intimate way.’’
‘‘Which movie, specifically, are we talking about here?’’
‘‘Wait.’’ He put up his right hand. ‘‘Look over there.’’ He pointed toward the rosebush twining over the thick stone porch rail. She strained to see, and his other arm settled across her shoulder.
She turned to him again. ‘‘Smooth.’’
He pulled her closer. ‘‘I’ll wager you know what comes next.’’
She breathed in the scent of him. So tempting.
Oh, what could be the harm in a kiss?
Or two.
She whispered, ‘‘Show me.’’ The swing moved gently back and forth, back and forth. Liv tipped her head up, offering her mouth.
He wasted no time in taking it.
They sat on that swing for over an hour, swaying and kissing, whispering together. He said he’d never gone to a school until he was a young man and attended University at Oslo. ‘‘I lived at Balmarran. There were tutors, excellent ones.’’
‘‘How old were you, when your mother died?’’
‘‘Twelve.’’
‘‘And thirteen, when you lost your father?’’
He made a noise in the affirmative.
‘‘Tough times, huh?’’
‘‘Don’t forget. I had my baby sister to keep me company. Wretched child. She cried for two years without stopping, or at least, it seemed that way to me.’’
‘‘You adore her.’’
‘‘I never said that.’’
‘‘You didn’t have to. I can tell by your voice when you talk about her.’’
‘‘My grandfather is still strong and healthy at seventy-eight. But Eveline will drive him to his grave. Of late, since her attraction to the groundskeeper’s boy began to pall, she speaks of running off to the wilds beyond the Black Mountains, to become a kvina soldar.’’
‘‘Kvina soldar? Woman warrior, right?’’
‘‘Very good. I’ll make a Gullandrian of you yet.’’
‘‘Never. I’m American to the core.’’
‘‘We’ll see about that.’’
‘‘I can hardly be governor of California if I’m living in Gullandria.’’
‘‘Ah. You’re willing to discuss where we’re going to live.’’
‘‘What’s to discuss? I’ll live here. You’ll live there.’’
‘‘Hardly my idea of a marriage.’’
‘‘But Finn, I’m not going to—’’
‘‘Shh.’’ He laid a finger against her mouth. And then that finger lightly brushed over her cheek and into her hair. He cupped the back of her head, brought his lips so close to hers…
How could she resist? She gave him her mouth and he gave her another of those lovely, deep, wet, lingering kisses. The swing softly swayed. The crickets sang in the grass.
Sometime later, she rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, ‘‘When my sisters and I were little, on nights like this, we’d take our sleeping bags out to the backyard, roll them out on the grass and spend the night under the stars. We’d pick out the constellations and tell each other scary stories. Even at the age of seven or eight, Brit could tell a scary story with the best of them. More than once, she had me so terrified I would have given just about anything to wiggle out of my sleeping bag and run for the safety of the house.’’
He nuzzled a kiss into her hair. ‘‘But of course, you couldn’t.’’
She pulled back a fraction so she could look at him. ‘‘How did you know that?’’
‘‘You would want no one—not even your sisters—to see your fear. They might think you weak. You despise weakness in yourself, though I’d guess you would be willing to tolerate it, to an extent anyway, in those that you love.’’
He had it exactly right. She smiled at him through the darkness. Then, with a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder once more.
‘‘I have to go in,’’ she said a long time later.
He caught her chin, guided it up and brushed another kiss across her mouth. ‘‘I’ll come in with you….’’
‘‘It’s tempting. Very tempting.’’
‘‘So why resist?’’
A few hours ago, she would have had an instant answer to that one. Now she was finding herself perilously close to agreeing with him.
They were both adults, both—since she had said goodbye to poor Simon—unencumbered by other commitments. And they wouldn’t be doing anything they hadn’t done before.
But she whispered, ‘‘No,’’ anyway. Tenderly. With regret.
* * *
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